


Snapdragon Wallflowers

by Vesperbat



Category: King of Fighters
Genre: Gen, sorta pre-Iori/Kyo and pre-Whip/Leona
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 11:47:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12983412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vesperbat/pseuds/Vesperbat
Summary: Headed to the same party, Iori and Leona meet in an elevator, and neither is enthusiastic (about the party or the meeting). But they each have their reasons for being here -- reasons more similar than Iori would like to admit.





	Snapdragon Wallflowers

**Author's Note:**

> Slightly inspired by all that '98 party art and... wanting Iori and Leona to get out more and become friends. Socialize, darn you.

Iori didn’t know why he was here. A rooftop soiree at an overpriced hotel was little better than hell itself. Because Kyo would be, too – that was the simple explanation. But what, exactly, was the point? No chance to fight here, and by the time things wound down, Kyo would likely be too drunk to walk, much less throw a decent punch. All Iori did at these grueling little affairs was hover on the edge of the room and take advantage of the free booze.

Kyo might try to talk to him – especially once he’d had a few – but only to call him depressingly pathetic and pathetically depressing and needle him about staring (“Why don’t you just come over here? Huh?”). If it weren’t Kyo, it would be Yuki, forcing tired conversation out of some perceived obligation. Then again, it might be Chizuru, hovering around him and brimming with poorly veiled concern. Worse still, it could be Yuri, chiding him to lighten up and have some fun already. As if any of this could possibly be _fun_.

(Shoot him if Athena should decide to make him her pet project for the night. Shoot him again if Kensou were around to complain about it.)

But when the elevator door slid open, not one of those faces stared out of him. No… this one was worse. Much worse.

This face belonged to Leona Heidern.

Iori hesitated just long enough to assess her expression: cold as always. He met her ice with ash and took up residence in the corner opposite from her. The elevator moved of its own accord – she was already going to the same place he was.

“You go to these?” asked Leona, not looking his way. Her voice was soft with disuse, but she still managed a note of derision.

“If you did, you’d know,” he said, shrugging. “You can talk outside a fight?”

She exhaled slowly, eying the elevator’s progress. They were only on the fifth floor – of thirty. “When I want to. Right now, I don’t think I do.”

“Suits me,” said Iori. “I’d save my strength if I were you. I wonder if you’ll survive, though.”

The eighth floor beeped by, then the ninth.

“My father asked me to,” she said, lips pressed tight. “Since he couldn’t be here himself.”

Iori scowled. She really was Heidern’s puppet. He supposed it was better than being Orochi’s – if only slightly. Then again, he questioned the insistence that she was in control. Getting as far as either of them had took an iron will, and he’d give her that, but in the end… only a fool got too comfortable.

Floors ticked by in silence save for their mechanical blip. As they passed the fifteenth, Leona whispered, “I don’t want to do this,” her eyes fixing on the glowing numbers. Her chest rose and fell in quick, sharp breaths under the ruffles of a dress that didn’t suit her. She had swept her ponytail to the side, pinning it with a large white rose to match.

Iori’s scowl deepened. The sight of her, like a stiff, awkward doll, was beginning to exasperate him. “Then don’t! Is that why you were coming down when I got on?”

“My obligation-”

Iori smacked the button for the 20th floor, which was fast approaching. Suddenly the door was open, and Iori stood outside of it, one arm blocking its closure. She stared as it ventured out in and out of its slot, prodding at Iori’s arm. Shaking his head, he turned and stepped into the hall. “Pathetic.”

“Me?” Now Leona leaned against the door. “You’re the one running away.”

“Running? Hmph. In order to run, you have to have something to run from. I had no reason to be here in the first place.”

“Then why come at all?” The elevator door shuddered against her shoulder, desperate to depart. Leona paid it no mind.

Iori’s hands slid into his pockets. “… just a whim.”

Leona stepped off the elevator. It groaned with relief, finally able to resume its desired course. She was smiling now – faintly. “People.”

Iori stopped short. “What?”

“You’re here for people.” She drew the words out like a tantalizing secret. “You must be.”

Whipping around, shoulders raised, Iori said, “Me?” What did she think she was talking about? Iori had no use for people.

“To tell you the truth,” Leona said, “I am, too.”

“You already said that,” said Iori, rolling his eyes. “Sent on your pointless little ‘mission.’”

“No, it’s...” Her hands squeezed at her sides, as if she’d be more comfortable if only she could wrap them around a trigger. “My father did ask me. But... they’re supposed to be here. K’, and Kula, and Seirah- er, Whip.” A blush crept onto her face.

“Whip. Right. The… whip girl.” Yes, he knew her – barely. As if he could spare any time for that crew. Only one flame held his interest.

“It’s been… a while. I sort of… while we’re not working...” She took a deep breath. “So I’m going. Definitely.”

He sighed. If that was what she wanted… “Then do it and stop complaining about it.”

She nodded, intention hardening into resolve, and pressed the up button. “But you’re not?”

Iori froze. Kyo… was there. Drinking and talking and slipping an arm around Yuki’s waist. Joking with Saisyu. Trying to keep Shingo at bay. He was there, and Iori was here, and somehow that wouldn’t change, no matter where Iori went. He could go or stay. In the end, it would make no difference. Iori did not belong.

Without another word, Leona boarded the elevator. The door slid closed, and Iori reflected upon her afterimage. Maybe the dress suited her, after all.

 


End file.
